


a ride that's smoother than a limousine

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Desk Sex, F/M, Mechanic Vision, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 21:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: Okay, so there's an attractive man. At least she's dressed nicely today and washed her hair last night. Anyway, it would be sleazy to hit on the mechanic. Something like the script for a bad porn.





	a ride that's smoother than a limousine

**A/N:** I have no excuse for this. Tumblr is @mximoffromanoff, feel free to hit me up. Hope y'all enjoy :)

* * *

The yellow front of the garage is hidden neatly away between a tiny dentist and a hairdresser that claims to give 'the best highlights for the cheapest price!'. It's enough to make Wanda arch an eyebrow slightly, but it was Sam who told her to come here and he'd never steer her wrong. Apart from the time he convinced her that dyeing her hair blue was a good idea. Lucky that she came to her senses in the drugstore and didn't do it.

Pulling her car into the parking lot and suspiciously eyeing the the engine at another loud clunk, she climbs out directly into a cold breeze, pulling her cardigan tighter around her. She should've worn her proper coat, but it still has a slight red wine stain on it from the open-air concert Natasha took her to and she hasn't gotten around to properly scrubbing it out yet. Yes, the coat is black and hides the stain, but the smell is lingering and she doesn't want the judgemental looks.

When she swings the entrance door open, there's no one to greet her, and she instead takes a seat, tucking her skirt under her thighs and looking around the small room. At least it's pretty, the floorboards polished, and the walls are painted a soothing cream and decorated in watercolours. Mostly flowers and trees, a few of the ocean. Maybe Sam _was_ right to tell her to come here instead of going to the notoriously overbooked one closer to her apartment.

"Can I help you?" She looks up from scrolling down Instagram and almost drops her phone when she makes eye contact with the man leaning on the doorframe. Blonde hair pushed back from his forehead, an oil smear on one sharp cheekbone, navy overalls rolled up over his forearms, and a small warm smile on his face. "I'm Victor Shade. I'm the owner."

"Oh, hi, I..." She swallows, quietly clears her throat, and says, "I'm Wanda. Would you mind taking a look at my car?"

"What's the problem, Ms..."

"Maximoff," she says, and he smiles. It lifts the colour of his eyes even more, making them so blue she wants to drown in them, and she tugs at her skirt and swallows thickly. Again. Wishing her heartbeat would slow down so she could get less flustered. "My engine keeps making this weird clunking noise. A friend said it was probably nothing but I wanted to get it checked out."

"Let me come out front and take a look," he says, and she hangs back for a second to compose herself. Attractive man. At least she's dressed nicely today and washed her hair last night. Anyway, it would be sleazy to hit on the mechanic. Something like the script for a bad porn.

But when she opens the door she sees him bent over her car, peering into the engine, and reels back inside to compose herself even further. To take a sip of water and rearrange her hair and bite her lips to get some colour into them before she goes back to him, a little extra swing in her hips, and watches him wipe oil off his hands with the rag tossed casually over his shoulder. Trying to arrange herself in a sexy manner against the car and giving him a flirtatious smile. "Did you find anything under there?" she asks, and he gives her a slight smile.

"There's nothing wrong, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she tries not to visibly let her face fall at the thought that she has no excuse to keep hanging out here. Not even ten minutes with such an attractive man, the universe must have something against her. "I'm happy to check the entire vehicle over if you have any other concerns."

"No, I...that's okay," she says. "I feel stupid for being worried if nothing was wrong."

"There's no need to feel stupid, Ms. Maximoff, car maintenance is important," he says, and smiles at her in a way that makes her heart do some kind of funny twisting thing. "Would you like a cup of tea before you go?"

She nods, and he leads her into an office painted a beautiful sunny yellow, pulling two mugs down from a cupboard and gesturing to her to sit down. The armchair is plush beneath her and she settles into it crossing her legs, hoping that it's not her imagination and she does catch his gaze lingering on her legs where her skirt pulls up. "So you run this place yourself?" she asks, and he nods, grinning. "Isn't that a lot of work?"

"Lots of the garages closer to the city get more business," he says, setting a mug of tea down in front of her, and she smiles and links her fingers around it. "I have my small group of regular and I love what I do. It's slowly starting to get more popular through word of mouth."

"My friend recommended this place," she says, and her mouth goes dry at the way his face lights up at that. "It's nice. Cosy."

"I like to make people feel at home," he says. "Sometimes the work takes hours. I like having somewhere for people to wait, let them have something to eat and drink. The Italian down the street is very used to being called to deliver here."

"So this is like a waiting room?" she asks, and he shakes his head slightly, colour blooming along the tops of his cheekbones.

"It's across the workshop," he says, diligently stirring his tea for a moment. "This is my office. I don't...usually bring customers in here."

"So I'm special?" she teases, and immediately regrets letting _that_ slip out.

But he flushes and goes silent for a long moment, before he looks up to meet her eyes and says, "You were all alone, Ms. Maximoff. And I've had a quiet day. It's nice to sit down with a...someone as pretty as you."

"Well, for that compliment you can call me Wanda, Mr. Shade," she says, and he blushes a brighter red.

"You can call me Vision," he says, and she smiles.

"You're not so bad yourself, Vision," she says softly. The air grows charged, too charged, and she breaks eye contact to finish her tea and get herself out of there hastily. Before she does something really stupid like kiss the mechanic she's known for less than an hour. That would be an all-round bad decision.

But she can't stop thinking about him. She drives home thinking about him, gets ready for the monthly potluck dinner with her friends thinking about him, loses spectacularly at Monopoly on the floor of Sam's apartment because she's so distracted thinking about blonde hair and blue eyes. She hasn't met a guy quite so good-looking in such a long time, can't stop thinking about running her hands through his hair, the way his forearms looked beneath the rolled up sleeves, the shape of his ass when he bent over her car.

Of course, he features prominently in her dreams that night. And she wakes up very early, dishevelled and tangled in her sheets, and immediately jumps into a cold shower, shoving her face under the spray in an attempt to calm herself down. Not that it works. Vision has lodged himself in her mind, that smile and those long fingers around a mug, and she can't even keep her thoughts off him while she fires off a few work emails, hair wrapped in a towel and bowl of porridge at her elbow.

So she chooses to do something about it. Climbing into her car just after lunch, after checking that her breath doesn't smell of egg and running a brush through her hair and changing into an outfit that's just casual enough to pretend she normally wears on a Saturday but still shows off every asset, she drives back down the same road out of the city. Passes the Italian place and the party shop with weighted balloon animals bobbing around outside in the bitter-cold wind.

When she pulls her car into the lot again, she wonders for a second if she's really doing this. If she really thinks she connected enough with a man in one hour to drive back to see him. Then she kicks herself - it's not about connection. She wants to fuck Vision, and so she'll make a way to do it. She'll ask him out for dinner and see what comes from there.

No one else is in the garage, again. But she finds Vision sitting at the desk in the entrance hall, reading, and he lights up when he sees her. Enough to convince her that she's made the right decision. "Back so soon, Wanda?" he asks, and she beams and nods. "What's the problem?"

"I, um...I'm worried my tyres are too soft," she says, and he stands up from his seat, moving closer to her. Making her more flustered. "I saw a billboard driving home yesterday about how soft tyres are a really bad thing, and I'm incredibly clueless about car maintenance, and I...since you're here, I wanted to check with a professional."

"Why don't you drive the car up into the workshop and I'll take a look," he says, and she nods. Thankful for the cold air outside to calm her down a little, her face hot and her chest tight. His sleeves are rolled up again, his hair pushed back, and she can't help staring at his hands and wanting them on her.

She pulls the car up to where Vision is pointing, and he moves behind her to close the doors to the workshop with a gentle, "You look cold." His gaze rests on her chest for a second, and she hopes that that wasn't some way of hinting that her nipples are showing through her shirt, resisting the urge to aggressively fold her arms and draw attention to them. "You want me to take a look at the tyres?"

"Yes please," she says, and he leans down to run his hands over them, and she tries hard not to lose herself in staring at his fingers. Watching his long, slender body move around the car, long legs and big hands moving over the metal, and she can feel herself getting hotter, subtly shifting to take off her cardigan hoping he won't notice.

"They seem perfectly firm, Wanda," he says, finishing his circle to stand in front of her. She leans back against the door to increase the distance between them, nervous that if he touches her she'll break and kiss him. He smiles slightly and softly asks, "Are you making excuses to see me?"

"_What_..._no_!" she insists, and he just grins. Leaning closer to her, one hand braced against the car, and she gazes up at him trying to silence the frantic urge to kiss him. "I just...I don't wanna be driving in an unsafe car, you know? I'm sure you understand, being a mechanic."

"I understand," he says, his voice low and gritty and sexy, and she's hard-pressed to not let her breath audibly hitch. "But just know, Wanda, that if you _are_ making excuses to see me," his other hand finds the car, sliding her back against the side, his body pressing into hers, "that I don't mind." He's so close that his breath whispers against her lips when he says, "You're very beautiful."

Her gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips and back again, and she lifts her head and kisses him. Pressing her body into his, and his weight pushes her back against the car, his hands moving to her hips as her arms wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair. Their first kiss seems to go on for minutes, and when she jerks back they're both breathing heavily, staring at each other. "Was that...okay?" she asks breathlessly.

He just leans into kiss her again, and she's ready to embrace him, for his hands to slide between the car and her to find the small of her back and pull her against him. They're so close, and she's already hot with desire, cupping her hand to the back of his neck to hold him closer. He breaks the kiss this time, eyes dark as his head dips for his lips to find her neck, and she clutches at him and gasps, "Is anyone else going to come in here?"

"No," he whispers, teeth grazing her neck and putting a desperate hitch in her breath. "I don't have any appointments today." His hands are at the hem of her shirt, pausing until she nods and then finding the buttons, slowly baring her skin. "If you want to-"

"Yes," she breathes, and his arms are around her, her legs around his waist and his lips on hers again. He's strong, carrying her across the workshop to set her neatly down on a desk, sweeping tools onto the floor in a swipe of his arm and an almighty clang, and she tosses her shirt aside and melts into his kisses, groaning his name when he dips his head to drag his lips across her collarbone as he unbuckles her belt and tugs at the button of her jeans. "Oh _shit_."

"I really considered asking you out yesterday," he says softly, his breath warm on her skin, hands trailing up her stomach to cup her breasts, and she arches into him with a moan. "Hoping we would do this." He drops a gentle kiss on her mouth, and lifts his hand to cup her face. "You're beautiful."

"So you said already," she teases, belying just how turned on she is, and he smiles and kisses her again, his tongue tracing over her lower lip as she lifts her hips to let him tug her jeans down.

Her fingers find the zip of his overalls, and she waits for him to smile and nod before she tugs it down, shoving the fabric off him and running her hands over his chest, clad only in a tank top, his bare arms defined as he leans over her, their breathing shallow and quick. "I want to make you feel good," he says softly, and she kisses him, fingers curling into the thin fabric of his shirt. "May I?"

"You can do whatever you want to me," she breathes, and he nips at her neck and pulls a moan from her, his hands sliding up the insides of her thighs as he pushes her legs apart. She's on her back, staring hazily at him kissing her stomach, and arches up into him when he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear and pulls them down.

He leans over the table to kiss her, hands finding a grip on her hips to tug her down the table, and she throws her head back in a gasp that breaks the kiss when he slides slowly into her, one hand cupping her hip and the other gently turning her head to let him kiss her neck. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, voice humming against her sensitive skin, and she shifts her hips and groans. "Wanda?"

"I'm fine," she insists, and his gaze finds her, glazed with lust. "I want you to fuck me."

"Well, I'd never be one to turn down a lady's request," he says with a teasing grin, her hand coming to rest on the back of his head as he kisses her neck, teeth scraping the skin. "Especially when she asks so nicely. Slow or fast?"

"Right now?" she asks, and he nods. "Fast. Hard. Give me everything you've got."

"With pleasure." He thrusts, and her nails scratch over the tabletop, hand moving from his head to hook around the strap of his tank top and cling on to him, arching into him. The feeling of him inside her, his breath hot on her neck, every press of his lips and scrape of his teeth setting her alight. She moves with him, meeting his quick, sharp thrusts, her moans growing louder and faster, and the first time she gets to hear him moan her name almost sends her over the edge immediately. He's propped up on one hand, the other running over her body, cupping her hip and caressing her breasts and leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touches.

"_Harder_," she groans, the air heavy with heat and filled with their groans and heavy breathing, and cries out when he speeds up. He lifts his head to meet her eyes, and she leverages herself up into a frantic kiss, filled with tongue and teeth and breath, just them clinging to each other as they move together. "Fuck, _please_."

His hand moves down from her breast to between her thighs, and she moves for him, lets him touch her, his fingers gently circling her clit, and she loses it, crying out his name so loud it echoes through the workshop and shuddering against him. When she stops shaking, can blink the haze out of her eyes, he pushes her back onto the tabletop, albeit gently, and she stares at him, hair falling forward into his eyes, flush spilling down his neck, overalls open. He doesn't take his eyes off hers as he speeds up again, and she whimpers, arching her hips up against him again. He calls her name when he comes, perhaps the sexiest sound she's ever heard, and she pulls herself up to kiss him, slow and intense, filled with gasping into each other's mouths.

"_Fuck_," he curses, and she giggles, running her hands smugly down his chest. "That was even better than I thought it would be."

"I can't remember the last time I came that hard," she says, and he grins and kisses her, and she drapes her arms around his neck and smiles against his lips. When he pulls back, zipping his overalls back up and handing her her crumpled jeans and shirt, she tilts her head flirtatiously at him and says, "I think you have to buy me dinner after that."

He arches an eyebrow at her and says, "Is that so?"

"I think it's only fair," she says. "I give you an incredible orgasm and you buy me Italian tonight."

"And what about the incredible orgasm I gave you?" he asks, and she smirks.

"For that, I'll make you breakfast tomorrow morning."


End file.
